


One Winter Night

by Ren



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Lausanne is not going to be one of U.N.C.L.E.'s proudest moments.</i> </p><p>An excuse to write about dysfunctional spy teams snuggling against the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Winter Night

**Author's Note:**

> Translation in Russian by BlueSunrise: [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5950984%22) & [external](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4408872) :)

Lausanne is not going to be one of U.N.C.L.E.'s proudest moments, Napoleon Solo thinks as he pelts down the side of the hill, swerving left and right to dodge bullets.

Gaby is already in the getaway car, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Illya is providing covering fire and shouting something, but Napoleon is too busy to waste time on banter. Besides, he doubts he could hear his own voice over all the shooting and the yelling and the barking dogs.

Yeah, about the dogs.

Napoleon splashes through the last few feet of slushy snow (his poor loafers will never recover from this) and yanks open the passenger door, jumping inside the small Fiat car. A moment later, Illya also ducks inside.

"Drive!" he tells Gaby, but she's already flooring it. The car roars into life and Napoleon, who's still precariously balanced on his seat, almost topples backwards against Illya in the backseat. He steadies himself with one hand on the back of Gaby's seat and pushes his damp hair out of his eyes with his other hand.

The car swerves out of the gate and the shooters already sound blissfully out of range. The dogs, though.

"You never said anything about dogs," Napoleon says, turning around and fixing Illya with an accusatory glare.

Illya glares back. "What would you want me to say about dogs?" he replies.

"There were dogs in there."

"Yes."

"You didn't say that there would be dogs."

"You didn't _ask_ if there would be dogs."

Next to them, Gaby gives a barely-audible snort. The car zips up a narrow mountain road. "Quit it, both of you. You both were supposed to do reconnaissance on the chalet," she points out, reasonably enough, but Napoleon Solo's whole career has been built out of flimsy justifications.

"Yes, but I was busy with the ambassador's wife," he replies. He grins at the way Illya's fist clenches and unclenches, nevermind that the ambassador's wife is pushing eighty and nearly blind and mistook him for one of her nephews. Nobody needs to know that. "Thanks to my invite we waltzed right through the front door, saving us the trouble of having to break in. I thought Peril here would cover the reconnaissance…"

"I told you that there was security," Illya rumbles, low. It's his flipping-tables-and-smashing-things voice, but there isn't much to smash in the car, so Napoleon figures he's safe and plunges on.

"You never mentioned guard dogs. You said, and I quote," Napoleon adds in a stilted Russian accent, " _standard security, no problem_."

"I didn't think you would have problem with it," Illya says. "I overestimated you. Incredible, since my opinion is already so low."

It's Napoleon's turn to glare, while Gaby snickers softly.

"I thought you meant a security system," Napoleon says, sullen. "You know, electronics. Things I can _deactivate_. That I can _deal with_."

Illya's eyebrows draw up, a picture of mock puzzlement. "Dogs are easy. You just need to outrun them. Don't you have dogs in America?"

Before Napoleon can muster a suitably witty reply, Gaby leans sideways and looks at him, and at the puddle that's quickly spreading around him. Her hat and coat are slightly damp because of the snow that's been falling all afternoon, likewise Illya's clothes, but Napoleon is positively dripping wet.

"What happened to you?" Gaby asks. She sounds as if she already knows that she won't like the answer.

"Many interesting things," Napoleon says. "But if you're referring to this," he says, with a vague gesture towards his sodden clothes, "I jumped into the lake."

"Why," Illya asks, very slowly, "would you jump into the lake?"

"Hey, it's not as if I particularly wanted to," Napoleon says. "I just figured it was a good way to lose my pursuers. I mean, who in their right mind would jump into a frozen alpine lake in January? It would have worked, too, if there hadn't been more guards waiting on the opposite shore. With dogs," he adds, shooting Illya a dark look.

Illya opens his mouth but Gaby cuts him off. "Never mind that, you two."

"Did you at least get the plans?" Illya asks.

Napoleon grins, allowing himself a moment of triumph. "Who do you take me for? Of course I did."

There's a collective sigh of relief. Napoleon produces a manila folder from inside his overcoat: the ink is smudged, but it's definitely what they'd been looking for.

"Good," Gaby says, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror as he hands the plans to Illya. "As soon as we cross into France we can rendezvous with Waverly and…"

Illya opens the folder. A soggy, bluish mess of paper slides out and lands in his lap with a 'plop'. When Illya tries to pick up a single sheet, half of a page rips out.

Napoleon stares impassibly as Illya dangles the torn page in front of his eyes. The ink is so smudged he can't make out any of the words.

"This was the only copy of the plans," Illya growls.

"Look at it this way," Napoleon says after a moment of silence, "we made sure that the enemies of the free world won't be able to build any nuclear submarines?"

Illya shoves the folder off his lap. "Great work, cowboy."

\---

"We have to stop for the night," Gaby says.

It's started to snow in earnest now, big white snowflakes piling against the windows, and their little car doesn't have snow chains. Gaby has to drive at barely more than walking speed, and even then she can feel the wheels skidding on patches of ice. Her frozen fingers tighten around the steering wheel. With the rocky mountainside on their right and a cliff on their left, this is not a good time to get off the road.

Illya frowns. "They'll be looking for us. It's dangerous to stop."

"It's more dangerous to continue," she points out. "If the snow doesn't let up, the passes will be blocked, and then we'll be trapped with nowhere to go."

"But where can we stop?" Illya says, and Gaby knows she's won this one. "It's too cold to sleep in the car."

"If I remember correctly, there's a cabin up ahead. Tourists use it in the summer but it's empty now. Solo, pass me that map," she says, nodding towards the dashboard.

Solo doesn't move. He's been unusually quiet for the last hour or so, and now he appears to have fallen asleep.

"Wake up," Illya says, putting one hand on Solo's shoulder and shaking him.

Solo jerks awake with a shudder and Illya pulls his hand away as if he's been burned.

"You're stone cold," Illya says, rubbing his hands together.

"That's because it is damned cold in here," Solo says in an undertone. The words are quickly followed by a full-body shiver.

Gaby leans sideways and, before Solo can swat her away, puts the back of her hand against Solo's cheek. Even through her gloves she can feel how cold his skin is.

She pinches her lips together, swallowing a curse. Idiot, she thinks, he's been freezing in his seat all this time without saying anything. And she's an idiot, as well as Illya, for not noticing anything. She should've known that something was amiss when Solo had fallen silent. No point in dwelling on that now.

Gaby leans over and grabs the map, tossing it at Illya in the backseat. "Where's that cabin?"

The snow has covered all the signs, but with Illya navigating they find it easily enough. It's a couple of miles away from the main road, deep enough into a forest so nobody will come looking for them. Hopefully.

The cabin seems deserted, with all the lights off and no vehicles parked outside, but Illya still motions for Gaby to stay inside the car.

"Wait here," he says, checking his gun and grabbing a flahslight. He slips out of the car and a gust of icy cold air gets inside, making Gaby shiver. Solo hardly seems to notice. His teeth are chattering audibly now.

Illya's boots crunch over fresh snow as he approaches the cabin's door.

Gaby's eyes are glued to his back until he disappears inside, then she turns around. Solo is slumped in his seat, eyes half-closed. His face is deathly pale. She wants to tell him that it'll be all right, that they'll be able to warm up soon, but she doesn't know if that's true so she doesn't say anything.

When Illya reappears, Gaby doesn't wait for him to speak before jumping out of the car.

"Safe," Illya said. She already knew, he wouldn't have holstered his gun if this wasn't the case. "It's empty, we can stay here."

Gaby is already getting their radio and a second flashlight from the car's boot. "Come on, Solo," she says, but Solo doesn't move. "Come _on_!" she tries again. "Let's get out of this cold."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Solo mutters. His words come out all slurred. "Only I don't seem to have control of my legs right now. You go ahead, I'll be along soon."

Illya scowls. He slams open the door on Solo's side and picks him up bodily. Solo is not a small man by any means, but Illya still manages to carry him inside the cabin with little effort. Gaby kicks the car door shut and hurries after them.

"He's like a piece of ice," Illya calls to Gaby over his shoulder. "Do you have any matches? We should light the fireplace."

Gaby shines her flashlight around and sees it immediately: a large fireplace with a stack of firewood next to it. A fire would do the three of them a world of good. She dumps the radio equipment unceremoniously next to the door – they're out of range here in the mountains, no point in trying to contact Waverly – peels off her gloves and starts searching her pockets.

Illya drops Solo on a wooden bench and Solo immediately slumps against the table. "Gaby..." Illya starts, shooting her a pained look.

"He had a lighter," Gaby says, before he can continue. She absolutely refuses to panic. She stalks over to Solo and puts her hands in his pockets, trying not to flinch at the feeling of cold wet fabric against her skin. Solo has been wearing those wet clothes for hours without saying anything. Idiot, Gaby thinks again.

Her fingers finally close around a small metallic object – Solo's silver lighter. She holds it out to Illya and he snatches it up, kneeling in front of the fireplace where he's already built a small pile of logs.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me," Solo says.

Gaby's head whips around. Solo's eyes are still half-closed but he's giving her a lopsided grin. "Why do you say that?"

"You've got your hands all over me," Solo replies.

She's too cold and tired and worried to play along with him now. She just wants him to get better, so she can yell at him properly for trying to catch his death of cold.

"It's not working," Illya says, shaking the lighter. "I think… when he fell into the lake..."

"Damn," Solo murmurs. "I liked that lighter."

Again, Gaby shines her flashlight around the cabin. It's depressingly Spartan, just the table and two long benches and a few cupboards in the corner. She stalks over to the cupboards and opens one at random: cooking supplies, an old dented cooking pot and a few pewter mugs, as well as some tins of food. Neither of them has eaten anything since lunch, but the thought of icy cold canned beans turns her stomach.

The second cupboard is more rewarding. There's a bottle of booze at the back, half-empty and covered with dust. When Gaby uncorks the bottle, the smell is strong enough to make her eyes water.

"There's some brandy in here," she calls to Illya.

He ignores her, and when she turns around she sees he's crouched in front of the fireplace, carefully nurturing a tiny flame that's caught on a bit of kindle.

Gaby sets down the bottle of booze and continues her search. With the last cupboard she hits the jackpot: two woollen blankets, carefully folded away and smelling faintly of mothballs. She could cry tears of relief, but she knows better than to waste time with theatrics.

Meanwhile, Illya has managed to get a small fire going. Gaby carries her haul to the table and pushes the blankets towards Solo.

"Here," she says, pouring a liberal splash of booze inside one of the mugs. "Drink this, it'll warm you up."

Solo wrinkles his nose. "Are you trying to poison me?" he says, trying to swat the mug away.

Illya looks up from the fireplace. "Drink," he growls. "You can make a fuss when you're not freezing to death."

Solo gives Gaby a pleading look, but Gaby just waves the mug under his nose. "Drink," she repeats, stern.

"Cheap alcohol is bad for your health," Solo complains, but he takes a large gulp from the mug. His cheeks immediately turn pink, though it's anyone's guess whether he's warming up or choking on the brandy.

Gaby pours some for herself too. It does taste dreadful, more like paint remover than brandy, but it makes her feel all warm from the inside. By the time she's finished her glass, there's a small ball of heat sitting in her stomach and her fingers don't feel all stiff and frozen any more.

"You too," Gaby says, pouring for Illya. She holds out the mug for him to take. He turns around but doesn't take the mug. "Bottoms up. Come on, you can make a fuss when you're not freezing to death," she says, echoing him.

Illya glares, but Gaby just looks smug and hands him the mug. He downs the brandy and grimaces. "Eugh," he splutters.

"That's what I said," Solo agrees, sounding only slightly closer to his usual self. He makes as if to grab a blanket but Illya stops him.

"Take off your clothes," he says, snatching the blanket away.

"Uh," Solo says, "I get that we've had this thing going on since we met, and I'm flattered, I am, but do you really think this is the right moment...?"

Illya, who's unfolding the blanket, pauses and stares at him. "What are you talking about? We need to dry your clothes. You can't keep standing around in wet clothes."

Solo stares at him for a moment. "Clothes. Yeah. Right, I thought that was what you said," he adds, quickly. He tries to catch Gaby's eye, but Gaby turns around and pretends she hasn't noticed anything. Idiot, she thinks again.

"You too," Illya says, turning to Gaby, and this time there's a definite redness to his face that can't be attributed to the brandy. "You should take off your clothes. Er. What I mean is, your coat..."

Gaby nods. It's the sensible thing to do, both her coat and her skirt are wet from walking through the snow, but even so she can't help being self-conscious about it. "No peeking," she warns him. "That goes for you too, Solo. _Especially_ for you!" she adds with a meaningful look.

"I wasn't going to," he says, very unconvincingly. Illya steps between them, blocking Solo's view and trying to wrestle him out of his shirt. "Hey, careful with the buttons," Solo complains.

Gaby turns around and takes off her coat, then she steps out of her dress. Immediately she feels goosebumps on her arms and legs. She hurriedly wraps one of the blankets around herself like a shawl, then she kicks away her shoes and bends down to peel away her stockings, which are completely ruined. She hangs the dress on a peg next to the fireplace, hoping it'll be dry by tomorrow. Now that the fire is roaring, it probably will.

She sinks down on the wooden floor next to the fire, holding out her hands towards the flames. A moment later Solo joins her, all bundled up in his blanket. Gaby looks up and sees Illya spreading Solo's jacket to dry.

"You're still wearing your wet clothes," Gaby points out.

Illya shrugs one shoulder. "There's no more blankets," he says without looking at them.

Gaby swallows. "We could..."

"It's fine," Illya says, folding Solo's tie with almost exaggerated care. "I don't need a blanket. I'm Russian."

Solo snorts. "Oh, for the love of..." he says. Then he lifts a corner of his blanket. Illya just stares. "Will you hurry up and get under the damn blanket?"

\---

Illya is the first to wake up. It's almost dawn, judging from the pale light that's filtering through the dusty windows. The fire is still going, though it's burning low, and he should get up to stoke it before it goes out completely.

He doesn't want to move just yet, though, because Gaby and Solo are still sleeping. At some point during the night, Gaby somehow ended up sprawled over both of them, with her legs in Solo's lap and her head on Illya's shoulder. She's snoring softly, her breath tickling Illya's collarbone.

Solo is sleeping like the dead, leaning against Illya's other shoulder. His skin feels warm, though, and his chest is rising and falling regularly under the blanket, and his face has lost that awful pallor. He'll be fine.

Gaby shifts, muttering something in her sleep, and a corner of the blanket slips away to reveal a tiny shoulder and the strap of her chemise. Illya blushes and quickly looks away. Solo would laugh and tell him that there's no sense in being embarrassed now, not when they're all sleeping huddled together in their underwear on the floor of a Swiss shack, but Solo is still sleeping. So Illya blushes, and looks away, and gently pulls the blanket over Gaby once again.

His hands linger on her shoulder maybe a bit longer than necessary. He shifts, settling more comfortably against Solo, and watches dawn break outside the window.


End file.
